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A Romance of Great Wealth and
the Game of Finance as Played by
Money Kings.
THE FIVE FRANKFORTERS
A Novelization of the Successful
Play of the Same Name Now Being
Presented in New York.
By KATHRYN KEY.
Copyright, 1913, by the New York Even
ing Journal Publishing Company.
PROLOGUE.
The Ride from Waterloo.
O N a crest of the rolling plain
that sweeps upward to Mont St.
Jean, and just back of the road
to Ohain, stood two men. Or, rather,
<»ne of them stood and the other
• rouched beside him. Before them, I
Ht the edge of the plateau, dim masses
of scarlet and black moved back and i
forth. Horsemen dashed past them
without a glance. Par beyond and 1
down the slope was that which dne of I
jthe men longed and dreaded to see—
<’the army of Napoleon deploying for
the fight.
Save a spyglass as powerful as
money could buy, there was nothing
about him to mark a military man.
His clothes were black and his cra-
\ at white. His stockings were black
siik, but "he was mired from head to
foot. His short, crisply curled, black
hair hung dank and limp, framing a
. strong face that way gray and drawn
• with agony of mind and weariness of
body.
None of his colleagues on the Lon
don Exchange would have recognized
Nathan Rothschild as he stood on the
field of Waterloo on that gloomy June
morning nearly a hundred years ago.
His servant now looked anxiously at
his face, now nervously at the misty
scene before them, and now longingly
toward the dark wood at their rear,
where a man held two thoroughbred
horses. Both men were shaken with
dread, but their terrors were of far
different kinds. The servant plainly
J eared for his own skin. The master
was heedless of their physical peril.
The servant touched his coat.
"Master,” he said, timidly, "let us
go back to the wood. We can see just
as a well from there.’*
Without lowering the glass, his
master threw him an impatient look.
A Caesar of Finance.
"Go back,” he said. "Wait for me
there.”
The next instant he was alone. His
sleep-hungry eyes were weak and un
certain and he lowered the glass and
moved slowly forward for a nearer
view. For more than two months he
had scarcely slept. For many, many
days this cool and immovable Caesar
of finance had led the life of a com
mon soldier and had.seen the grim-
ness of camp and campaign.
Three months before he and his
brothers* - the famous Frankfort sons
of the founder of their house—had,
heavily backed the peace of Europe.
It was a time of reconstruction, the
dawning of a new era. The day of
blood was done. The plowshare and
. the ledger were to supplant the sol
dier and the sabre. He had seen the
vision of the new and wonderful prog
ress of mankind. With a liberal hand
he had poured out his gold to give the
life-blood to commerce that should
clear the way for the triumphs of
science and establish the empire of
brains and industry.
And then Fate had laughed at him.
^ lion had burst the twigs that bound
him. The Man of Destiny had struck
his foot on the rim of France and
from far Gibraltar to the capes of
Jutland Europe trembled to his tread.
Armies sent to take him had kissed
the hoofs of his horse. Kings and
princes had fled at the sound of his
name and their thrones swayed emp
tily behind them. And with them
the house of Rothschild swayed and
tottered.
Nathan could stand it no longer.
He left London and hastened to the
battle field. Here he had seen fresh
proof that fate was mocking him.
The Man on Horseback was riding
through Europe. He had fought
fourteen battles in sixteen days and
his enemies had drawn back from his
invincible arm. shattered and stunned.
He struck and wheeled and struck
again and the might of Europe
crumbled before him.
And now but one slender hope re
mained to this man of banks and
books and to the peace and welfare
of generations yet unborn. On the
far edge of the plateau where he
stood was massed the fighting power
of the unconquerable English. He
knew them. He had lived among
them—an alien and yet one of therm
And because he knew them he had
poured out his fortune on the founda
tion of peace. These, his countrymen,
were there to make good the pledge
they had given him—that the peace
of Europe would he maintained.
He strode quickly on, stepping- over
his ankles in pools ot rain water, ajia
not seeing where he stepped. He
barely noticed that his servant,
shamed, had come up with him again.
He was making for another rise far-
ther to the left, which, he believed-
(commanded a view of the French
army.
A Corsican Thunderbolt.
It was a dim day, following a night
of rain, but with his glass he could
make out the dark masses of the
matchless infantry of France and the
dark, heaving clouds of borse. It v as
nearly noon and he wondered why the
battle had not begun. At: that very
moment he was answered. I ne
ground beneath his feet trembled and
Its varlfVr Q TpmfiO TOAT.
(he died,” she added softly, "as some
day soon, perhaps, they will pray for
me."
Jacob quickly put out his hand and
covered hers. "Nonsense, Grannie,
you mustn’t talk that way," he said
i cheerily. '’Why, I never saw you
; looking younger or more beautiful in
i my life.”
The Frau rapped his knuckles with
I a spoon. "You are a flatterer, little
Jacob," she rebuked him, tenderly.
"But this Is the only home I’ve
ever known,” he said gently, taking
up her command as to marriage.
"And It’s the only one I ever want
to know, grandmother.”
A Race for Homemakers.
“That’s what you say, now. my
dear, returned the old lady, wisely.
But one of these fine days some
pretty girl will come along and make
you more ambitious, my dear. Re
member, we come of a race of home
makers, we Jews. Home is the very
foundation of our race."
Jacob thoughtfully munched a roll
and made no comment, and the Frau
gently turned the talk into less per
sonal channels.
“How long are your holidays to
be?” she asked.
"I don’t know,” he replied. "I don’t
i even know why I’m here. Uncle Solo
mon sent a message saying I was
1 to leave everything and come at
! once.”
"Nathan came yesterday^ said his
I grandmother. "He had the same mes
sage. Neither he nor Amschel knew
. what it was for. Carl is coming from
I Naples—he is on his way. 1 heard
| from him—Solomon had told him
; nothing.”
Jacob drank his coffee slowly.
“There must be some very big mat-
[ ter on hand,” he guessed.
He reeled to his horse and hung, limp, at the bridle. The red lines of the English were moving back from the edge ot the plateau.
the air w*s split -with a terrific roar.
It was a salvo bf two hundred guns,
the first thunderbolt the 0 orsiean
demigod launched at his tmplacable
foe The English guns replied A
sinister gray vapor slowly blotted otit
the line*. The die was cast. Ear
barism and civilization closed in a
death gTapple. . thp
His gl8ss could not pieri e the
smoke. A round shot tore up the
curt and spattered him with mud and
slowly and reluctantly he drew hack
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and back toward the forest and
watched the rear of the English lines.
Hour after hour slipped by and
he saw nothing. The shrieking roar
of the cannon and gusty roll of the
musketry swept down on him in an
unbroken flood.
"Let us go, master." begged the •
servant again and again, but there
was no reply.
Suddenly at his left a broken
stream of soldiers appeared running
pell-mell for the shelter of the woods.
They were followed by cavalry. The
servant darted for the horses, but the
master stood rigid. The next instant
a horde of French horsemen w r as in
the midst of the fugitives, their
sabers gleaming dully as they rose
and fell. For an instant Roth
schild was about to follow his ser
vant. Then through his glass he saw
that the uniforms of the fugitives
were black—the Brunswickers. He
guessed the truth and groaned and
mopped the cold sweat out of his eyes
that he might see more clearly. The
French had carried La Haye Sainte.
One of the wings of the army was
broken and the terrific uproar far
down below the plateau In the other
direction told of the stern assault on
the other. But still he stood—the
English lines had not wavered.
Again for a long time there was no
grim word from the front, save the
long lines of wounded and the fright
ened skulkers. His servant was al
ready mounted and waiting, and in
stinctively he drew back as if he
felt that a crisis was approaching.
The Numbness of Despair.
And then It came. He reeled to his
horse and hung, limp, at the bridle.
He raised the glass to make sure. The
red lines of the English were moving
back from the edge of the plateau. It
was over!
' “God!” he groaned. “God! It is
over.”
With his servant’^ aid, he swung
himself to the saddle.
“Let us go,” he said in a dull voice.
But he could not bring himself to
turn his horse’s head. The numbness
of despair, the bitter despair that re
volts against the truth, was upon him
But there was no doubt in the mind
of his foe. At the moment that Na
than Rothschild mounted to the sad
dle the man in the plain beyond
turned to an aide with the light of
savage triumph In his eyes:
"Ride like the wind to Paris and
tell them the battle is won!”
Barbarism had triumphed. The
scourge of God was free to lash Eu
rope. The banker looked again for a
last despairing view' of the field and
a cry burst from his lips. Where the
wavering, swaying lines had been a
moment before, there were thirteen
red blotches on the gray face of the
plain. And at that moment the lit
tle man on the white horse in the
plain beyond ordered the cuirassiers
of the guard to charge the English on
the plain of Mont St. Jean. One
crushing blow, and he would have ful
filled the bigger half of his plan to
drive the English into the sea and
hurl the Germans into the Rhine.
In front of the crimson squares the
cannon shot up jets of gray earth.
The English guns bellowed in angry
menace. Between the agonized
watcher and the silent squares was a
small clump of horsemen—the flower
of England's cavalry had been cut to
pieces and their bodies lay among the
blazing ruins of Ra Haye Sainte.
Ney Leads the Charge. j
As he Stared and listened, the roar
of the guns died away and there fol
lowed a stillness more awful than the
thunder of the fight. What had hap
pened? He peered through his glass
and could see nothing hut the nerv
ous swirling of the Highlanders in the
square and th* shifting of the Dutch
battalions. Then his ears ram'- to
*
and rose and swelled until the ear
was jarred and the ground shook. He
knew now! The heavy cavalry of the
Corsican was advancing to the final
assault. A speck appeared above the
rise of the plateau—a dozen, a hun
dred, a thousand—and the long line
of horsemen surged onto the *plain.
The watcher groaned and prayed
Even at that distance his glass had
caught the gleam of the decorations
of the leading horseman, and he knew
that that man who rode a dozen
lengths In the forefront was the brav
est of the brave—the reckless Ney,
and behind him rode the might of
France.
The watcher’s eye swept the front
of that mile-long line, and for the
moment he forgot that he was a man
of peace, forgot the tremendous stake
to himself, his family and mankind
that hung in the balance, forgot that
for centuries his people had not
known the sword. The blood leaped
to his pale face and a sparkle to his
eye as there stirred within him the
spirit of Maccabeus, of the race that
was before Israel’s spear was broken
and her place made desolate. Rank
on rank, wave on wave, on they came,
tossing manes and drumming hoofs
and rippling banners and the war cry.
"Long live the Emperor!” boomed
out over all.
A hoarse answering shout came
from the Dutch, the pipes of the
Highlanders shrieked a last defiance,
the guns belched death into their
ranks, but there was no sound or
quiver In the squares of the English
—theirs was the silent, stern wel
come of a warrior breed to the feast
of blood.
Suddenly a gap opened in the roar
ing flood. The sunken ditch of Ohain
had swallowed a thousand horsemen.
But the rest surged over them and
on. Now they were upon the squares.
The watcher closed his eyes and ]
prayed. For a hare instant the wave
hung like a billow above the rocks.
Its sides were giant horses and giant
men. and Its crest was flecked with
the flash of heavy blades and the
gleam of helmets. A moment thus
hung the terrible wave, and then with
an earth-splitting roar it burst.
Six Out of Thirteen.
When the watcher looked again be
fore him on the plain was nothing but
a great seething blur. This was the
last and final blow. No mere men,
however brave, could stand before tin*
weight of the tremendous, steel-clad
missile the Corsican had hurled.
But slowly, as he looked, the wave
ebbed. Where the squares had been
he saw nothing but ghastly, writhing
smears on the plain. Further back
the horsemen drew and his heart gave
a mighty throb. Out of the inferno,
like a rock from the waters, emerged
an unshaken clump of red—then an
other and another. Six he counted
where there had been thirteen. But
he knew that was enough. Those six
would hold the field of Waterloo.
He was but little more skilled as a
horseman than as a soldier, but he
drove the spurs Into the sides of his
mount even as his lips moved in i
prayer of thanksgiving. Beyond the
f?ea in London lay the wealth of the
world for his taking if he could be
first on the ground with the news of
the battle.
"Ride, Isaac, ride!" he shouted to
his servant, and together they thun
dered down the Brussels road, while
behind them the Old Guard turned
their faces to the starlight and the
Prussian bayonets completed the work
of Destiny.
* * *
Brussels was a city of terror when
he galloped up to a deserted inn in
the black night and fell from the sad
dle utterly exhausted. His servant
dragged him in and demanded beds.
"Bed! No, my carriage!” cried the
banker, rallying his strength with a
mighty effort.
"But, my Lord, there is none."
stammered the landlord. He seemed
to be listening with one ear to iiis
guests, the other for the roar of the
French musketry.
"None!” exclaimed Rothschild.
“Where Is my own?”
"Your own?” echoed the landlord.
And then through the mud and the
lines of weariness he recognized the
Croesus who had left the blooded
horses and carriages in his charge
two days before.
The word that the battle was lost,
brought by hundreds of skulkers and
wounded who had seen the English
fall back, was on every lip, and .the
landlord was only too glad to offer
his services as coachman and leave
his inn in other hands. In ten min
utes after they had dismounted the
banker and his servant were on the
road to Ostend. driving through the
lines of refugees at break-neck speed.
“A Boat for Dover.”
A rainy, misty dawn was breaking
when the wornout horses were pulled
up at the waterfront of Ostend, where
now is the broad bathing beach and
bath houses and hotels. Then there
was nothing but the huts of the fish
ermen. At the door of one of these
Rothschild knocked and the fisher
man. came out.
"I want a boat at once and a
skilled sailor to take me across to
Dover,” he said.
"To Dover!" echoed the fisherman.
"Yes.”
"To-day! ”
"Yes, yes—to-day," repeated the
banker, impatiently. "What is re
markable about that?”
The door of the next hut opened and
another man came out. In a few
minutes the word had spread along
the row of houses and half-a-dozen
rough, weather-beaten men were
gathered in the gray light about the
hanker and his servant.
"He wants a boat to take him to
Dover," explained the first fisherman,
who was called Jaquc - by his friends.
"And they all stared at the banker as
at some queer and possibly dangerous
animal.
"Well, what of it?” he demanded,
angrily. "Which man among you
wants to make five hundred francs in
a day?”
“But, my lord.’ protested Jaques,
“look at the sea! 1 wouldn't venture
out into it for a thousand francs.”
"My lord" did not more that* glance
at the sea, but his servant took a long
look and shivered. A gale from the
North Sea was driving hordes of
roaring billows upon the shore
"I’m not afraid of it. Why should
you be?” demanded the banker.
The fisherman looked him over with
a tolerant but respectful eye.
"We know the sea and you don’t,”
growled one of them. "That’s why.”
‘‘Two Thousand Francs.”
Rothschild looked at the sea and
the rack of dirty gray clouds and
then at the fishermen and then he
thought of London.
"You wouldn’t go out into it for a
thousand francs?” he said turning to
Jaques. "Would you go for two
thousand ?”
The fishermen gasped and stared
at him anti then at each other. Two
thousand francs! It was a small for
tune. But Jaques shook his head.
"I have a wife and four little ones,"
he said.
"And I five,” muttered another.
"And my old mother as well,” added
a third with a decided shake of his
head.
The banker had opened his lips to
offer a larger sum when a young man
stepped forward.
“Have you the two thousand francs
here?” he said.
“Yeai” replied Rothschild, eagerly,
and produced a heavy wallet.
"If you will pay them to my wife
now I’ll risk it." he said, quietly.
"Young fool!” growled one of the
grizzled veterans of the sea.
"Not so, papa.” laughed the young
man. "I have no little ones, and if I
should be drowned Marie would have
a fine dowry for a new husband.”
It was night when the "young foot"
helped his passenger ashore at Dover
pier. He was alone. His servant had
emphatically declined to embark, and,
indeed, his master had not urged him.
He was given money and told to fol
low in a safer way.
The banker s'hook hands fervently
with the fisherman.
"God was with us," he said piously,
looking out over the dark water.
“And you are a brave man. Here!"
He jerked out his wallet, stripped it
of a handful of banknotes and pressed
them tnto the young man’s hand. Half
an hour later he was riding at top
speed on a fresh horse down the road
to London.
Twice in the night he changed
horses, and when the Exchange
opened the next morning the awed
and frightened brokers s«aw the head
of the great house of Rothschild lean
ing against a pillar on the floor more
dead than alive. They asked him no
questions, these men who had bet
he would lose. They were only too
anxious to reap the harvest of crowns.
The defeat of England was written
on his gray, emaciated face, in his
wild and bloodshot eyes, and they
spent the day picking his bones. And
he said nothing. They went to bed
that night mildly sorry that he was
ruined, regretting that England was
beaten and Europe again given over
to blood and rapine; but they were
glad they had had the foresight to
make something out of It. And the
best securities in Europe were dumped
in a flood onto the market and sold
for anything.
The next morning,, when banks
were tottering and the cataract of
securities had weakened because
there were no more to dump, Nathan
Rothschild, newly tailored and bar-
bered, smiling and joyous, appeared
on the floor of the Exchange and told
the news.
Blucher had defeated Grouchy at
Ligny and Wellington had beaten
Napoleon, and the combined armies
had crushed the military power of
France, For a generation the peace
of Europe was assured.
In a few hours it was confirmed
from half a dozen sources, and se
curities rose in leaps and bounds.
The rocking banks settled firmly back
on their foundation*'.
That night Nathan Rothschild went
to bed nearly $10,000,000 richer and
dreamed of the future of the great
Frankfort house
* * *
It was just seven years later that
a great banker in Vienna, confidant
of court officers and power near the
imperial throne, sent out four letters.
A week or so afterward a great bank
er left Vienna, another left Naples,
another Paris and another London,
all traveling as swiftly as the means
of the day would permit toward a
little old house In Jews’ Lane, in
Frank fort-am - Main.
It was a custom, amounting to a
superstition, with these men. that
whenever anything of great im
portance was to he discussed, any
grave decision to be made, it must be
done in the old house ip Jew’s Lane,
where their father, Maier Amschel,
died, and where their mother, the
wonderful Frau Gudula, still lived.
Amschel. the eldest, who was Con
sul of Bavaria, still lived in Frank
fort, but not in Jews’ Lane. He had
received a letter from Solomon noti
fying him that the family was gather
ing for a council. None but Solomon
knew what might be the subject of
the conference, hut all obeyed the
summons without question—even to
Jacob, the nephew, and the Joy of
the house, who was accomplishing
great things in Paris.
Frail Gudula was overjoyed, but un
moved at the prospect. There was
no busy bustling about of servants
in her quiet house Everything in that
simple home was always ready for as
maty guests as it would hold, and If
the guests did not like thpir enter
tainment they need not come again.
Frau Gudula was the mother of the
Rothchilds, but she was principally
Frau Gudula. Amschel had built her
a splendid house, where she might
live in a state commensurate with the
foitunes of her sons. She told him
to sell it for a profit if he could—and
he did. She continued to live quietly
in Jews Lane.
Her Wise Choice.
"Here I am loved and respected,”
she said, "by everyone, high and low.
There I should be no longer respected
by the high nor loved by the low."
The Romans erected a statue to a
woman whose only claim to a distinct
personality was that she was the
mother of the Gracchi. Frau Gudula
had no sympathy with her. She was
as proud pf her sons as was Cornelia.
She was proud of their achievements
and of the esteem In which they
were held, but she had no wish to be
known as "The Mother of the Roth-
chllds.” She was plain Frau Gudula,
an old-fashioned, homely old woman,
with an eagle nose and a soft, gray
eye that hardened and flashed at a
tale of wrong or fault in honor. H*r
children were still her children to her,
and no matter how many kings
begged them for loans or heaped dec
orations and honors upon them she
found time and occasion to talk to
them as a strong mother talks, when
she felt that their honor might swell
their heads to the point of breaking.
And this was one of the reasons
that all councils of importance were
held in the old nouse In Jews’ Lane.
Not one of these men before whom
ministers of finance fawned for favor
would have felt comfortable before
the eyes of the shrewd old woman If
the stroke that might vitally affect
the future of the house were deter
mined upon without her counsel.
So she lived, loved and respected, tn
the old house where the foundation
of the groat financial structure of the
Rothschilds was laid. Prince and beg
gar found their way to the door of
that house, and it was more fre
quently the prince who turned away
from it unsatisfied.
The old lane was too narrow for the
great carriages of those days, but for
two days past couriers had clattered
up t*o Frau Gudula’s door to prepare
her for the coming of her s<Ln» and
her loved grandson. "Little Jacob.”
For all their haste and excitement
they failed to make much of an Im
pression on the old household.
Frau Gudula merely told "old Rose ”
the housekeeper who had been with
her since Amschel was born, that all
of the family would be there for din
ner that night. Then she went ov°r
the place and gave It a perfunctory
inspection. Her house was always
ready.
‘‘Little Jacob” Arrives.
Doing this she missed a touching
scene in the old dining room, wher*
Rose threw heraelf on a young, black-
haired dark-eyed man, with tears
and choking greetings. The young
man hid behind a curtain and .Rose
tip-toed to the kitchen when they
heard the Frau’s foosteps in the hall.
The young man waited until the
dame was deep in the Inspection of a
linen closet and then he slipped softly
out from his hiding place.
"Grannie!" he called suddenly.
The old woman started and turned.
The young man was 9miling and hold
ing out both hands to her. She
blinked as If in a strong light and
slowly at first, and then with a rush
she ran to him and threw her arms
about him
"Jacob!" she cried, with something
like a sob of joy. "Little Jacob!
How you startled me!"
He laughed happily as they hugged
and kissed each other.
"Where have you sprung from?”
demanded the old woman, wiping her
eyes.
"Paris," he said. She took him by
the shoulders and stood him off at
arm’s length and gazed into his far*
with swimming eyes. He was a
grandson to be proud of. she thought
With his long black hair, and pale
face and soft dark eyes he looked
more of the dreamy philosopher or
poet than the keen-witted financier
he had proved himself to be. All this
passed through Frau Gudula’s mind,
hut she said nothing of it. She only
shook her head and exclaimed with
wonder:
"How people travel nowadays! I
think your Uncle Carl iR in Naples
and suddenly a courier comes an
nouncing his arrival. But he hasn’t
been here yet. Ah. it is good to have
children! There is only one thing
better, Jacob, my little boy,’" and she
folded him to her grandmotherly
bosom again, "and that’s to have a
fine, splendid grandson like you."
Jacob acknowledged the compli
ment by kissing her gray hair ten
derly. Whereupon his grandmother
drew bac k and looked him over once
more.
His Promptness.
"How long have you been in Frank
fort, my dear?”
He smiled. "Five minutes."
"And you came straight to me!”
He was kissed again.
“Of course,” he laughed. "My ser
vant has taken my things to Uncle
Amsehel’s, but I haven't been there
yet."
“You have arranged to stay with
Amschel?”
"Yes.”
"And you’ve had nothing to eat,"
guessed his grandmother, giving the
bell-pull a vigorous yank. "I expect
you are famished!"
Jacob laughed merrily. He was still
a little, ever-hungry hoy to the old
woman. "Oh, no, I'm not,” he pro
tested.
"You must be, child!" returned the
Frau, severely. She haled him to the
table and had Rose bring roils and
coffee and settled herself to watch
him eat. There was some method be
sides much love in this move. There
i was an air of the world about her
favorite that gave the old Frau some
uneasiness and she began to pump
him adroitly. Even in those days
Paris was a cause of concern to
elderly ladies with young men in the
family.
She began by remarking that he
looked pale and he reassured her by
explaining it on the grounds of the
hard journey. Then she went on to
say that she felt lonely sometimes
and uneasy about all of her children,
scattered to the four quarters of
Europe. "You should have a wife
and a home,” she told him gravely.
"Why don’t you come to Paris,
‘Grannie,’ ” he smiled, "and look after
me?”
She shook her head "Ah, child, I
am an old woman, and l like to live
with my memories—here—where my
husband lived. We want peace and
quiet when we are old. you know. I
have just come from the synagogue—
I love to go there. It is a real rest
to sit in that quiet corner where my
father used to sit—and later my hus
band. There we prayed for him when
"Most likely.” agreed his grand-
I mother, a little indifferently. *T
shouldn't be surprised if some king
were very hard pressed for money.”
T HE young man chuckled his ap
preciation of the old lady’s
matter-of-fact view of the im
portance of the house.
"Well, Grannie, that’s no novelty,’’
he said. "Our family has known
kings to be hard up before. Many of
them regard us as the world’s philan
thropists.”
"Well," said the frau. pursing her
lips judiciously, "if this particular
king is respectable and reliable, I
don't see why we don’t accommodate
him as we have many monarchs be
fore.”
Jaiob nodded sagely. "Ah, yes,
that’s the main point—as long as he
Is reliable.”
lie suddenly remembered that he
had brought a present for his grand
mother and he fished out a small par
cel and presented it to her.
"Some old lace—Bruges.” he ex
plained, as she hastened to a window
to examine it with little cries and
exclamations of delight.
"How beautiful! It is quite a hun
dred years old.”
"It Is supposed to have belonged to
the Countess of Speyer,” the young
man remarked.
“Speyer!” repeated the old woman,
softly, and slowly lowered her hands
and gazed at him. "My mother came
from Speyer, and perhaps her fa
ther had to step into the ditch when
the princess rode by—and now I am
to wear her lace! Ah, hut life is
strange.”
It was hear time for afternoon cof
fee when Amschel arrived. He sel
dom failed to arrive at about that
time. He was large, especially about
the waist, with a placid, Teutonic
countenance that had sometimes
lured the unwary into thinking they
could take advantage of him. He
greeted his nephew with simple, open
German affection, than which there
is nothing more beautiful and whole
some in the world. He was dressed
in badly fitting buff clothes with a
decoration or two on the left breast.
Jacob recognized that conversation
would be impossible until his uncle’s
creature wants had been attended to.
When he was comfortably seated in a
big armchair, with a cup of coffee
in one fist and a large buttered roll
in the other, his nephew addressed
him.
"You have become Consul of Ba
varia since I last saw you, uncle. 1
congratulate you.”
Uncle Amschel hastily swallowed
on enormous mouthful and waved
the congratulations aside with the
roll.
"Don’t, nephew.” he said, as soon
as he could articulate with compara
tive distinctness. "Honors and title
make you a mark for beggars—don’t
covet them!”
"But he Is very proud of his bits
of ribbon, nevertheless,” put In his
mother, with pride. "And I am very
proud of them, too.”
Thus supported Amschel took an
other swallow of the coffee and ex
panded.
"My friend, the Landgrave of
Hesse,” he remarked, "patted me here
—he indicated the ample pajunch—
and said, ‘Amschel, you must get
stouter to make room for another
decoration I want to give you.’ The
Duke of Fulda was there—and laugh
ed,” chuckled Uncle Amschel.
To Bo Continued To-morrow.
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